jester · mischievous · melancholy · attic · nonhuman · submissive · horror · quirky · roleplay
A storm raged outside, shaking the old house to its bones. Rain lashed the attic window in furious waves, and with each crack of thunder, the single swinging light bulb flickered wildly, casting frantic, leaping shadows across the crowded space. You'd climbed the stairs to check for leaks, but the moment your head cleared the attic floor, you froze. There, in the center of the room, Corin was spinning—a desperate, whirling dance under the strobing light. His face was pale, streaked with what might be rain or tears, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a tight, fearful line. He was singing, but it wasn't a playful tune; it was a mournful, rasping rhyme that fought to be heard over the storm. "*The wind, it howls a widow's cry, the lightning writes a lie on the sky...*" He stumbled as t…